


How Many Miles to Babylon?

by Lindorinand



Category: Deep Secret - Diana Wynne Jones, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Certain events completely disregarded, Gen, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Sirius Black Lives, This work is sort of a crossover/fusion/mashing of ideas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindorinand/pseuds/Lindorinand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius' death has left Harry devastated; however, deep magic is a work and Harry might have a way to bring Sirius back from the veil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can I Get There By Candlelight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very liberally borrow chunks of text from both the Order of the Phoenix and Deep Secret. If you are at all familiar with either book it should be obvious where each authors' text ends and my own begins.

"DUBBLEDORE!"

Harry turned to look where Neville was staring. Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of his body – _they were saved_.

Only one couple were still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: He was laughing at her. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore turned to the dais too.

It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.

And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, one-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place.

"SIRIUS!" Harry yell, "SIRIUS!" As Harry yelled, wand outstretched in a desperate attempt to do something, he felt his wand turn warm under his fingers, a dull flash light the room and a narrow candle appeared. Without thinking, Harry grabbed the object out of the air and ran off after Bellatrix. He was going to kill her if it was the last thing he did.

 

**Time passes. If you are reading this fic, you know what happens – Harry is possessed by Voldemort, the Ministry arrives, etc., etc., until we are back in Dumbledore's office.**

 

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!" Harry roared, "YOU – STANDING THERE – YOU –"

But the words were no longer enough, smashing things was no more help. He wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back, he wanted to be somewhere he could not see the clear blue eyes staring at him, that hatefully calm old face. He turned on his heel and ran to the door, seized the doorknob with his empty hand, the forgotten candle clutched in the other, and wrenched at it.

But the door would not open.

Harry turned back to Dumbledore. "Let me out," he said. He was shaking from head to foot.

"No," Dumbledore replied.

"Let me out," Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore's.

"Not until I have had my say," said Dumbledore.

"Do you – do you think I want to – do you think I give a – I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!" Harry roared. "I don't want to hear _anything_ you've got to say!"

"You will," said Dumbledore, maddening calm in the face of Harry's unrelenting rage.

"Please, sit down." Dumbledore nodded at the chair in front of his desk, and Harry, chest heaving with barely suppressed emotion, sat.

Harry still wanted to rage at Dumbledore, to shatter the old man's calm in the face of his grief. Deep down, however, a small part of Harry was crying for Dumbledore to fix this. To tell him that Sirius wasn't dead. To mention some arcane spell, or potion. Anything but the horrible truth of Sirius' eyes as he fell into the veil.

"Now, please, what are you holding in your hand?"

Harry stared at Dumbledore in disbelief. How could Dumbledore care about something so inconsequential when Sirius was _dead_? He opened his mouth, rage building once more, but Dumbledore held up a hand, "Harry, I will explain everything, but you must hear me out. If that candle is what I think it is, we have a chance to bring Sirius back."

Harry stared at Dumbledore.

"I assure you I am not joking," Dumbledore said with a soft smile. "It is a candle, is it not? Please, Harry, let me get a closer look."

Wordlessly Harry handed over the candle and watched as Dumbledore slowly turned it over in his long fingers.

Now that he was calmer, Harry was just a bit curious about the candle as well. He hadn't gotten a good look at it when it had first appeared at the Ministry, he had been far too caught up in Bellatrix.

Cylindrical in shape, the candle was slender, nearly as long as his forearm, and strangely transparent; as if it could not decide if it wanted to be visible or not. It appeared to be made up of every color all at once and yet none at all. It was like no candle Harry had seen.

Face solemn, Dumbledore looked Harry in a way he hadn't all year, straight in the eyes. His piercing gaze holding Harry to his seat. "How did you get this?"

A little taken aback at the intensity in Dumbledore's voice, Harry quietly explained how the candle had simply appeared after Sirius'... He hadn't seen any reason not to pick it up.

"Harry," Dumbledore said urgently, "this is a Babylon candle."

Harry just stared at him blankly. "A what?"

Dumbledore set the candle down on his desk and leaned back in his chair, a look of amusement in his eyes as he recited:

> How many miles to Babylon?  
>  Three score and ten.  
>  Can I get there by candlelight?  
>  Yes, and back again.  
>  If your heels are nimble and light,  
>  You may get there by candlelight.

Harry gaped at Dumbledore. "But that's a Muggle nursery rhyme! What's that got to do with Sirius?"

Rising from his chair and walking over to the fire, Dumbledore smiled enigmatically at Harry. "Everything, Harry. Everything. Always remember," Dumbledore commented, as he reached into a small pot on the mantlepiece and threw glittering silver powder into the flames, "there is a seed of truth in every tale." The flames roared green and Dumbledore said "Bathsheda Babbling" and stuck his head into the fire.

"Good evening...Yes, yes, I do realize what time it is, but..." a bit of a pause, as if Dumbledore was listening to someone's response. "My dear Professor Babbling, I quite understand but I have a Babylon candle..." More silence. Then, "My office."

It was a bit, Harry thought bemusedly, like hearing one side of a telephone conversation.

Dumbledore took his head out of the fireplace and stepped away. The flames died down, and turned their usual flickering orange. Seating himself at his desk, Dumbledore looked at Harry again. "I am well aware that you have questions, but I must ask you to be patient and wait for Professor Babbling to arrive. She is Hogwarts' resident expert after all. And, ah, Harry, let's keep Sirius' identity a secret for now." Still feeling a little shocked at the turn this conversation had taken, Harry nodded once, sharply.

"Excellent," Dumbledore beamed at him. Then, picking up his wand, "can I interest you in some pumpkin juice? Perhaps a lemon drop while we wait?"

Harry could only stare. Luckily he was spared the need to respond when Dumbledore's office door opened with a bang and a witch Harry had never seen before burst into the room.

She was of middling height and skinny with her dark hair pulled back into a severe bun. She had small round spectacles perched on the end of her nose and a look of distraction on her face. A bit like Hermione when her brain was going twenty different directions at once.

"Where is it?" the witch demanded, her gaze flickering around the room, landing briefly on Harry before settling on Dumbledore.

Instead of answering, Dumbledore merely held up his wand and, with a flick, another comfortable armchair drew itself up next to Harry's. "Please, have a seat," Dumbledore said gently. And, with a nod in Harry's direction, "Professor Babbling, this is Harry Potter. Harry, Professor Babbling. Harry is the one with the candle."

As she sat down Professor Babbling studied Harry with an intense gaze, making Harry squirm in his seat, before holding her hand out imperiously, clearly demanding the candle.

A bit peeved at involving yet another person in his business and still not getting a straight answer from Dumbledore, Harry handed over the candle feeling a little mutinous. Perhaps some of it showed on his face, because Professor Babbling gave him a brief distracted smile as she studied the candle.

"This certainly looks like a Babylon candle," she muttered, "but there really is only one to find out." Before asking in a louder voice, "who was it and how did you get this candle?"

Harry felt his insides freeze. He wasn't ready to talk about Sirius' death.

Dumbledore gave a discrete cough. "Bathsheda, perhaps this is not the time."

Professor Babbling glanced up, startled, and caught the look on Harry's face. A look of sorrow replaced the scholarly concentration. "Ah, of course. I am sorry for your loss, my dear. But, if you don't mind, I do need to know how the candle appeared and what you were feeling at the time."

Perhaps it was that Babbling truly appeared to feel regret for his loss, but Harry found himself trying to explain the burst of emotions he had felt instead of blowing up into rage. Harry didn't think he was doing a good job being coherent, but Professor Babbling was nodding along as if what he said made sense.

"It is as I have theorized. You see," Professor Babbling lectured once he was done, "all the stories and myths of people returning from the dead have one thing in common, love. Don't scoff my dear. Clear-"

"Most of what the wizarding world knows about these candles comes from Muggle fairy tales," Dumbledore broke in, looking at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "Perhaps you have heard of the East of the Sun and West of the Moon myth? Or, better yet Psyche and Cupid?" Dumbledore smiled gently at the look of disbelief on Harry's face. "But perhaps you are more familiar with the tales of Orpheus and Eurydice or Arthur and Merlin?"

"Well, yes, but-" Harry began before Professor Babbling interrupted him in turn.

"These candles don't just appear to anyone. You have to really need the recently departed. For instance, when you lost your parents to You-Know-Who you were simply too young to really understand what was going on. Of course, some theorists believe that it takes a powerful burst of magic to call forth a Babylon candle.

"Again, though as a baby you would have most certainly needed your parents, your magic would not have been mature enough and you would not have had a wand to help concentrate your magic; Magic matures as you use it and, and though a wand helps channel magic it also acts as a focus. You need a powerful burst of magic and love to call a Babylon candle.

"That is what happened when this man died. This man who represents father and brother; mentor and comrade; and an escape from an unhappy home-life–" Harry tried not to squirm under her keen gaze, "–has gone and left you bereft of all." At this Harry started to protest, thinking of the Weasley's and all their kindness; Dumbledore and his enigmatic answers; Hermione and her loyalty, "I am sure you have some very good friends my dear," Professor Babbling said quietly, "but they are not him, are they?"

Harry shoving his grief ruthlessly down, could only nod.

"Well, then. Let us go about getting him back."

Professor Babbling briskly turned towards Dumbledore: "We will need six candles, an iron knife, water, grain, salt, and some wall space," she said with a wry grin at the cluttered office.

Harry had to laugh at the look of dismay on Dumbledore's face. Even with Harry's recent rampage, space was at a premium. Finally, after some consideration Professor Babbling and Dumbledore decided that the Headmaster portrait wall would have to do (it was the only space not covered in shelves and cabinets). Some of the portraits, listening closely to the conversation, protested mightily at being moved, others with a quiet "good luck!"

Eventually, the wall was clear of eavesdropping pictures and Dumbledore stood away from the wall, clapped his hands, and bent to speak with the house-elf that appeared while Professor Babbling murmured to Harry. "It is your verse, that tells us what we need. I have the rest of the incantation, don't you worry dear, but your verse changes with each person, with each need. Look," and held up her wand, with a muttered _Lumos_ , behind the candle. Harry could just make out script weaving itself around the edges. "That is your verse." The house-elf bowed once, before vanishing. In his place were six large beeswax candles, a small knife, and three pouches that must contain the salt, grain, and water.

Dumbledore picked up the candles and pouches, giving three of the candles to Professor Babbling and the pouches to Harry. "Are you ready Harry?" Dumbledore ask kindly.

Head whirling at the speed at which things seemed to be happening, Harry gave a firm "yes."

"Excellent," Professor Babbling said briskly. "Now, Professor Dumbledore and I will line these candles up, lighting them as we say our verses, forming a path as it were." She turned to look at Harry, "Your candle will be lit first. And Harry,? You have to make it back before your candle dies. You cannot dally. No heroics like in the Triwizard cup, alright? Once the candle goes out, you have lost the road forever." There was a grim look in her eyes as she concluded, "no one knows what happens to those who fail to return during their allotted time. They are never heard from again."

Harry didn't care, he had gotten Sirius into this mess and he was determined to get him out, whatever the cost.

Taking a deep breath, Professor Babbling turned to Dumbledore, "Well, I think we are ready to get started.

"Hold out your candle my boy," Professor Babbling instructed, lighting his candle with a touch from her wand as he held it out.

It flared bright as a falling star, blinding Harry. As he blinked to clear the sunspots from his eyes he heard Professor Babbling and Dumbledore take up positions on either side of him.

Professor Babbling spoke the first verse as she lit her candle and placed it on the floor.

> How many miles to Babylon?  
>  Three score and ten.  
>  Can I get there by candlelight?  
>  Yes, and back again.  
>  If your heels are nimble and light,  
>  You may get there by candlelight.

As she spoke a cool wind seemed to rush around the room, clearing Harry's vision. Dumbledore spoke next.

> Where is the road to Babylon?  
>  Right beside your door.  
>  Can I walk that way whenever I want?  
>  No, three times and no more.  
>  If you mark the road and measure it right  
>  You can go there by candlelight.

Professor Babbling began her next verse and a low mist seemed to gather about the room.

> How do I go to Babylon?  
>  Outside of here and there.  
>  Am I crossing a bridge or climbing a hill?  
>  Yes, both before you're there.  
>  If you follow outside of day and night  
>  You can be there by candlelight.

Dumbledore spoke again:

> How hard is the road to Babylon?  
>  As hard as grief or greed.  
>  What do I ask for when I get there?  
>  Only for what you need.  
>  If you travel in need and travel light  
>  You can get there by candlelight.

Unbidden, Harry heard himself follow Dumbledore:

> What shall I take to Babylon?  
>  A handful of salt and grain,  
>  Water, cold iron for protection on the way,  
>  And a candle to make the road plain.  
>  If you carry these things and use them right  
>  You can be there by candlelight.

Dumbledore and Professor Babbling lit their last candles together as they chanted

> How long is the way to Babylon?  
>  Three score years and ten.  
>  Many have gone to Babylon  
>  But few come back again.  
>  If your feet are nimble and light  
>  You can be back by candlelight.

As the last syllable died away, the mist condensed and grew into two smokey pillars of flickering candlelight.

A doorway opened.

Harry walked up and was about to step through when Professor Babbling grabbed his arm. "Harry," she said intently, "this is is important. " Harry nodded, loosened his arm from her grip and stepped over the edge.


	2. Yes, and Back Again

If this was the road to Babylon, Harry thought, it didn't look like much. The sun was shinning and he was standing on a broad, well kept dirt road, rolling green hills surrounded him. If it weren't for the lack of animals and people he could have been anywhere in the English countryside. Then, Harry looked up. The sky was not the bright blue of a summer's day. It was constantly flickering between transparent and opaque, color and not color; A bit like his candle. It was nauseating. Harry found himself staggering like a drunk before he wrenched his gaze from the sky and back down to the road. He did not look up again.

At first the walk was pleasant. It was like walking through an idyllic day in a bucolic scene, but everything was eerily still and quiet. Gradually the lack of noise started to bother him. What he wouldn't give for the buzz of a bee, the chirp of a bird, or even the whine of a mosquito! If the entire walk to Babylon was like this, he could see why people didn't make it back. The silence and monotony was going to drive him mad.

Harry did not no how long he had been walking when he reached the bottom of a valley and the well maintained path he had been following, was suddenly full of large boulders that he had to clamber over. It was hard going. Then abruptly field of boulders came to an end and Harry found himself standing next to a bridge spanning a broad, silent, river. Harry could see nothing on the other side. Uncertainly, Harry paused, looking around, trying to see the other side of the river. It remained utterly lost in shadow. Swallowing, Harry gripped his candle harder and walked across the bridge.

Though the landscape remained shrouded in darkness, to his relief though, Harry's candle provided a small bubble of visibility; Allowing Harry to glimpse the road he was walking on but not much else. Though the ground lit by his candle's light was normal enough, the area outside the light remained a devoid nothingness. It all made Harry feel like he would cease to exist outside of the light. Harry tried to walk faster but the surrounding emptiness made it impossible to judge just how effective his efforts were.

As Harry walked he began to list all the ways you could foul in Quidditch as a way to distract himself from the darkness. Harry was so preoccupied with his list that before he really understood what was happening, he was completely tangled up in brambles. The harder Harry struggled, the more embroiled he became. Harry stopped fighting and tried to think of a way out of his predicament. The situation was so similar to his first year that Harry almost reached for his wand, thinking to start a fire like the one that defeated the Sprout's defense. But Harry didn't have his wand and something told him that these plants would not react like the Devil's Snare. He needed another way out.

Almost without realizing it Harry found himself drawing the iron knife. At once the branches released him, shivering back from knife but hovering on the edges of Harry's vision. Now, holding knife in one hand and candle in the other, Harry continued up the path. Stopping every once in a while to scare away reaching branches.

The path continued onward and Harry was soon exhausted with the effort of keeping the brambles at bay and holding his candle. Then, the clinging brambles and darkness were gone and in their place steep bare rock, seeming to stretch forever upward into the sky, blocked his path. As Harry stared up, he noticed hundreds of spikes and ledges and edges on the cliff face. He was going to have to climb.

Like the walk before, the climb up the cliff seemed to take forever. Harry kept climbing up and up and up until suddenly he wasn't. A wide endless plain stretched before him. With a weary sigh, Harry put away the iron knife, and started walking.

He didn't get too far before the pale outlines of other people started showing up. At first Harry was too tired to really pay them much heed, but then he noticed some familiar faces in the shades surrounding him. He thought he saw Quirrell, then Cedric, and even his parents once. Harry stopped and stared.

Which is when the birds attacked.

Startled, Harry shouted and swung his hands. That seemed to work, except then the birds went after the ghosts and the ghosts did nothing to stop them. Harry quickly reached into one of his pouches and drew out a fistful of grain, throwing it at the ghosts' feet. At once the birds fell upon the grain, fighting amongst each other. "Run away! Quickly!" Harry yelled. The shades just stared at Harry, but, gradually, they faded away, leaving Harry and the birds. Harry could do nothing more for the ghosts and nothing more about the birds. He turned and ran.

After another eternity of walking, the empty plain ended, merging into a landscape of jumbled rocky spires erupting out of the ground. His candle lit upon a path winding its way through. As Harry followed the path he became aware of a growing wind and voices.

It was like listening to every last doubt Harry had ever had. It was hearing every unkind thing he had ever been told or said. The voices kept going, getting louder and louder as he went, until, at last Harry squeezed between two pinnacles of rock and everything just stopped.

The wind and voices vanished, the spire of rocks and the path vanished and Harry was once again left with his little bubble of reality inside the flickering glow of candlelight.

Sometime later Harry took a step and the ground was no long hard. There was the scent of growing things in the air and the spongy feel of grass beneath his feet. This new path went up quite steeply, swaying more and more as he went, and after a bit Harry's candle picked out a tower half buried in growing things. And then another and another. All draped in growing things. The scent of grass and flowers became overwhelming but the path kept going up and up and up.

Harry found himself scrambling and climbing up what appeared to be swaying plant baskets hanging from the towers. Harry had never been so grateful he played Quidditch. He wasn't sure how he would have kept climbing if he weren't used to being suspended far above the ground with only a thin piece of wood between him and the Earth's surface. Eventually Harry came to the top of a very large tower.

There was a small room at the top and somehow Harry was both inside and outside of it at once, standing in an incredibly bright light with colors swirling about like the Northern Lights with a stone trough all about him.

Like before, Harry found himself reaching into the pouches and drawing out a handful of the grain, the salt, the water, and the iron knife. He poured the water into the trough, scattered the seeds and salt, and brought the knife to his hand, cutting it and letting a few drops of blood fall in.

As soon as the first drop of blood hit the water it began foaming and rushing over the edges of the trough. And a feeling of waiting settled into the air.

"I want –" Harry began, stopped, tried again. "I need Sirius back."

Harry heard a sort of chiming, the lights seemed to swirl more, and the pale outline of a human figure sketched itself in the air, growing more substantial as light from Harry's candle fell on it. As if the candle was lighting him from the inside. It was Sirius. Harry started to speak but before he could form one word he heard another chime and he knew. It was time to head back. Down the swinging gardens, through the rocks, across the plain, up and down, up and down, all the way to London town. Harry bit back a hysterical laugh – nursery rhymes again. Harry started walking.

It was just as bad as before, except he saw no birds and no ghosts. The walk back seemed to take an eternity, but he kept going and did not look back.

Finally, Harry saw a glimmer of light at the end of the path. The candles in Dumbledore's office were marking the path home. The sight renewed Harry's flagging strength as well as strengthened his desire to turn around. He had not heard anything from Sirius since he had started back and he needed to look. Needed to make sure Sirius was truly behind him. But, he couldn't. Professor Babbling's warning echoed in his head, "do not turn around." Harry trudged on. Though he could finally see Dumbledore's office, it did not appear to get any closer until suddenly he was there.

Harry staggered slightly as he stepped over the threshold, his stub of a candle barely flickering. Harry briefly registered the startled exclamations coming from Professor Babbling and Dumbledore before he whirled around, looking anxiously behind him.

Nothing.

No Sirius.

For a second Harry thought he had failed, that Sirius wasn't coming back. Then – a crunch of footsteps on the path – and Sirius' head appeared over the low rise of the hill.

Sirius was coming!

He looked better than he had since Harry knew him. Sirius was more complete, more the smiling man from his parents' wedding than the escaped prisoner from Azkaban.

Like Harry's own approach, Sirius seemed to take far longer to reach the wavering pillars than he should. And suddenly he was there. Stepping into the office as Harry's Babylon candle winked out and the doorway closed.

Sirius seemed to look around in shock as he took in Dumbledore's office and the stunned faces of his audience.

Harry was suddenly shy. Scarcely believing it had worked, that Sirius was truly standing in front of him. Now that he had gotten Sirius back, Harry wasn't sure what to do. Wasn't sure what to say.

But that didn't matter as Sirius broke into a grin and enveloped Harry in a bone-crushing hug.


	3. Author's Notes

I have never been a fan of authors who kill off a character and then, through some contrivance, manages to bring them back. JK Rowling had some very good reasons for killing Sirius (and later Dumbledore), and though I was upset, I understood. Harry needs to grow into his own person, and he could not do that if he kept relying on his two mentors. And yet, when I was rereading Deep Secret a while back, I could not help thinking _what if_.

The beginning of my fic comes from JK Rowling's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix while much of Harry's journey comes from Diana Wynne Jones' Deep Secret. The Babylon rhyme is completely Jones' (though I did make one very minor change). Here it is in its entirety for those interested:

How many miles to Babylon?  
Three score and ten.  
Can I get there by candle-light?  
Yes, and back again.  
If your heels are nimble and light,  
You may get there by candle-light.

Where is the road to Babylon?  
Right beside your door.  
Can I walk that way whenever I want?  
No, three times and no more.  
If you mark the road and measure it right  
You can go there by candle-light.

How do I go to Babylon?  
Outside of here and there.  
Am I crossing a bridge or climbing a hill?  
Yes, both before you're there.  
If you follow outside of day and night  
You can be there by candle-light.

How hard is the road to Babylon?  
As hard as grief or greed.  
What do I ask for when I get there?  
Only for what you need.  
If you travel in need and travel light  
You can get there by candle-light.

What shall I take to Babylon?  
A handful of salt and grain,  
Water, cold iron for protection on the way, [ _original_ Water, some wool for warmth on the way,]  
And a candle to make the road plain.  
If you carry these things and use them right  
You can be there by candle-light.

How long is the way to Babylon?  
Three score years and ten.  
Many have gone to Babylon  
But few come back again.  
If your feet are nimble and light  
You can be back by candle-light.

Jones in turn got inspiration for the poem from an old nursery rhyme of unknown origins. There are two different versions of the lyrics, the shorter English version that shows up here, and a longer Scottish version - The Oxford English Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes has both versions as well as a brief history that is interesting to read.

This story is unbetaed. Constructed criticism and the pointing out of grammatical errors, typos, and plot holes will be greatly appreciated.


End file.
